Miserere Mei, Deus
by Phiso
Summary: Sirius doesn't believe in God; never has, never plans to. No self-respecting wizard ever would. Or so he thought, until one late afternoon he walks in on a singularly unexpected sight.


**Author's Note: **In my mind, Remus is a French Roman Catholic. That's just me. I realize many of you may not agree, but I have my reasons. I'm not trying to insult anyone with anything written here, so please don't accuse me of that. Remember that this is all from Sirius's POV.

For Laine and Lucyfer, for inspiring this story in the first place.

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M i s e r e M e i , D e u s

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_i. Miserere mei, Deus: secundum magnam misericordiam tuam._

Sirius never understood religion. He had never believed in a God. God was a story muggles made up to feel better about themselves, to explain what their feeble minds couldn't and assure them that no matter how fucked up they were there was always someone who would unconditionally love them. Satan was there to justify their darker sides, mankind's lust for evil and to serve as an excuse for any mistake they willingly made. But for Sirius this was bullshit. There was no God to him. He could always explain the mysteries. The world was just full of vicious little pricks and there was nothing to do but try and get through it with as few wounds as possible.

There were people, Sirius knew, who put their absolute faith in this God of theirs, an almighty being they had never seen and never would see until death when it was too late to try and fix things. He lived on some cloud somewhere, forcing people to praise him and follow a strict set of impossible rules and who apparently had a big plan that no mere mortal could understand. He was perfect and infallible, or so they said, and it annoyed the hell out of Sirius to hear people preach, especially if they were of his kind. It was as if they had never had any schooling, had never seen a wizard transfigure water into wine or split a body of water with a flick of his wand. It was as if they had chosen to be blind. Sirius hated people like them.

But then there were people like Remus. He had never expected to meet a person like that, never even knew they existed. They prayed quietly, so that no one knew that they were quietly begging for help or grateful for a small miracle; they kept crosses tucked beneath shirts or in pockets, small leather books of scriptures hidden in the corners of trunks behind old socks and a stained scarf. They weren't obnoxious about their choice to believe, nor did they try to force you to join them. They were content going through life with their head bowed in reverence, surviving the best they could with the little guidance they had. People like this mystified Sirius.

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_ii. Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum: dele iniquitatem meam._

He hadn't meant to come across Remus in the dorms. It had been an accident, though later for the first time he wondered if maybe he had been destined to go in. It had been a spontaneous thought, coming upstairs to get something to read to fend off boredom and help him procrastinate on his homework. He hadn't known Remus was upstairs as well.

The sixteen year old didn't flinch when the door slammed open; on the contrary, he didn't even seem to register the noise. Sirius opened his mouth when he spotted the familiar head of sandy brown hair, set to make a crude joke or some sort of random observation on the anatomy of an octopus, but the sight before him made him freeze in his tracks.

There he was, frail, quiet, pensive Moony, sitting on the edge of his bed, his profile facing Sirius, hunched over and supported by bony elbows digging into knees, his forehead held up by clasped hands. Slipping through those thin fingers like water were beads of gold, too many to count, a cross dangling near his wrist and gently swaying back and forth as he shifted position slightly every few seconds, as if his body was getting tired. His lips were moving rapidly, his fingers shifting right along with his body and the necklace coiled around his hands, a single bead rubbed between a thumb and forefinger against his hairline. He didn't stay with the same bead long; it kept moving at the same rhythm, the pulse of Remus's voice keeping beat.

Sirius didn't know how long he stood there, watching Remus with naked fascination. He felt like he was glimpsing something private, something he shouldn't be seeing, but Remus didn't seem to mind; he didn't even seem to notice Sirius's presence. Sirius would have been hurt if he hadn't been so curious; as it was, he was entranced by the sight, the low murmurs of the werewolf's voice almost mournful, the language more fluid and serious than his usual English, his brow lightly furrowed, the light of the sinking sun slipping through the curtains and showering him with a soft golden aura. It was like stumbling upon the statue of a lamenting saint or a tragic muse, blessed by his patron deity, an ethereal essence pouring from every thin sliver of the evening's rays.

After what felt like an eternity, Sirius jerked out of his stupor and quietly crept out, resolving to try and keep from asking his friend too many questions. The door was silently closed behind him, and when James inquired as to why he didn't come down with what he had left to fetch, Sirius made up a lame excuse and James knew instinctively to let the question drop.

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_iii. __Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea: et a peccato meo munda me._

Remus was perfectly willing to explain it later with Sirius's hesitant prodding. He explained it in a strange tone, a voice Sirius didn't recognize and sounded worlds away from his normal bookishness. It was different in a humbling way, low and solemn and sincere, laced with weariness and supported by a hope so strong and desperate it pained Sirius to hear it.

He had been praying a rosary, Remus explained, a type of prayer Catholics did, done as a call for help, a request for the Virgin Mary's blessings and aid. Why he was reciting such a prayer Remus decided to cleverly sidestep, a tactic Sirius was now well accustomed to catching but chose not press at the moment; he was too curious about this newfound side of his Moony, a boy he thought he knew everything about after six years of sharing a room and four years of sharing secrets and a year of sharing something a bit more. He prayed in Latin, the mother tongue of the Church, because he felt it was more appropriate than either English or French; he prayed in private because he didn't want to disturb the others and he knew how Sirius felt about religion anyway. The last bit made Sirius squirm with guilt - suddenly he felt twelve years old again, unsteady and unsure and not fully understanding the intricacies of the argument he was raised to hate. He detested how he always seemed to offend the core of Remus's being with his upbringing, even if he didn't mean to, and how Remus was always able to forgive him of his trespasses, even if he didn't deserve it.

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_iv. Cor mundum crea in me, Deus: et spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis._

Redemption. This was the center of Remus's adoration and fidelity, Sirius was sure. To be released, to be forgiven of all sins and cleansed pure. It was a concept Sirius had barely managed to grasp, his only education coming from the few sermons he had heard before he had cut the preacher off early with a hex; the way Remus elucidated it, however, had him enthralled. Remus's voice seemed to fill with a richness that filled the empty dorm; it was hesitant at first, trembling, nervous about what conclusions Sirius might derive, but as time passed it grew into something strong and full of conviction, so assured that Sirius wondered if perhaps Remus was trying to convince himself of his faith more than merely explain himself.

It was a chance to start over, to strip away the dirt and stains and blood and be free again, to correct past mistakes and prevent future ones. With redemption came the chance to get into Heaven, where one would feel a belonging and happiness so immense and complete it was unimaginable; without it, one was damned forever, victim to their pride and subjected to an eternity of pain and remorse. Redemption was a desire so cemented into Remus's very soul that it poured into his words, revealing a self-loathing so strong it frightened Sirius. Everything he said sounded so harsh, so afraid, so self-deprecating that all Sirius wanted to do was embrace his Moony, to tell him he wasn't as tainted as he thought he was, that he was the purest person he had ever had the privilege of meeting in his life and that if anyone deserved Heaven it was him. It would be inconceivable of them to turn him away, he said instead, and Remus's lips tugged his face into a small smile, a familiar one that told Sirius that his notions were kind despite their lack of foundation, and it was obvious that he didn't believe a word Sirius was saying. Tired of seeing that agonizingly entrenched fear in his friend's eyes, Sirius tackled him back onto the bed, Remus cried out in surprise, and all was forgotten for a time. But still, that night, as he laid on his friend's bed and stared at the high stone ceiling above, the waning moon's beams illuminating their room as Remus slumbered beside him, a book of Shakespearean sonnets haphazardly strewed across his waist and a badly written attempt of Sirius's creating a canopy between their legs, Sirius couldn't help but let his mind drift back to what he had heard, what he had learned about the amazingly strong young man gently breathing against his chest, a young man who believed himself unfit for salvation.

Even if he wasn't sure one existed, Sirius couldn't imagine a Heaven without Remus. How could it exist, if a place as supposedly perfect as that wouldn't accept this most worthy of creatures, a broken young man who never gave up his hope or trust, even when tested beyond his limits? How could anyone deny him, him of all people, redemption?


End file.
